In His Blood
by Jusmine
Summary: Alex was born to be a spy. It’s in his blood, and he can’t help but want to save everyone. - Oneshot - Written for SpyFest.


Okay, so first of all, an **important announcement**. So, if you're reading this story, and I usually review your story each chapter, but haven't for a few months, well... there is a reason. I promise I'm not just skipping on the whole reviewing thing. I'm just really busy right now. Seriously, I love music, but my workload's getting a little ridiculous. Since you all want to know I'm sure, my music stands thus: cello lessons, piano lessons, voice lessons, orchestra rehearsals, choir rehearsals, chorus rehearsals, and... four hours of practicing every day! Plus, y'know, highschool, and physical therapy for my back...

So, uh, that's why I've been majorly slacking on the fandom front. I apologize.

Anyway, moving on, a quick advert. **Please read!**

This story was written for the very first Alex Rider fic exchange, SpyFest! SpyFest was run by the ever gorgeous and amazing **Arithilim** (who also happens to have some great fics, btw). There were many great stories written for the fest, so please, when you're finished reading and reviewing this story, hop over to my profile and grab the Link Express to LJ and/or the ARchive and the wonderful fic!

Finally, thanks to Ara for her wonderful beta job! ^_^

---

Alex was walking slowly, careful not to put any extra strain on his chest. He'd been released from the hospital just a few days before. This was his first day going back to school.

Even if he wasn't far behind in school, he would have been eager to go again. Two and a half months in hospital was more than enough for anyone, even with one as posh as St. Dominic's.

He was walking down the street of a fairly nice neighborhood when he saw the police cars. There were four of them, all with lights flashing and their drivers dashing around, looking unprofessionally panicked.

He didn't know what he could possibly do, but his instinct told him he had to at least try to do something. It seemed that even after being shot, he had far too strong of a hero complex for his own good.

Regardless, if there was even the slightest possibility that he could do anything to help, he had to. Even if it wasn't an instinctual urge, Ian had gently (or harshly, depending on the situation) instilled in him that he, as a more than capable and smart Rider, had a responsibility to set aside his own needs to help anyone, anyhow.

Alex sped up, nearly jogging now.

A police officer stopped him when he reached the cars. "Back off, kid," he said, loudly, over the wailing of sirens, and the shouts of the other police.

"What's happening here?" Alex asked quickly.

"Back off," the man repeated. "Police only."

"But what's happening?" Alex repeated urgently.

The officer tried again to shove him on his way, but if MI6 had taught Alex anything, it was persistence. It took at least five minutes of begging for info before the officer caved.

"Hostage situation. There's a woman and two children being held by at least two men," he rattled off quickly, obviously hoping that that would be enough to sate Alex's curiosity.

"Are the men well-trained?" Alex immediately asked, emboldened by his success in wheedling an answer. "Do they have guns? How are they situated in the house?"

"Listen, kid, if you want to make believe military, go play a video game." The man turned away, heading back to the other police.

But Alex grabbed his sleeve. "At least tell me why they're being held?" Alex asked, almost desperately. However hesitant he had been earlier, he was determined now that he knew there were innocent children in danger.

The officer looked pointedly down at the fabric still clutched in Alex's hand. Alex let go quickly, waiting, hoping for an answer.

"I'm sorry, but we are unable to divulge that information," the officer sniffed, not sounding at all sorry.

Then he left, leaving Alex gritting his teeth with frustration.

"Fuck," he muttered. He still knew practically nothing that could be useful. Sure, he knew that there were three innocent people being held by two or more men, but he didn't know what the men's strategy was, or what they had in the way of weapons. They could have anything from Swiss Army knives to machine guns.

For a moment, he contemplated walking on to school and forgetting that this had ever happened, that he'd ever seen this or thought about helping. Then he could have hit himself in the chest for even considering that.

No way could he allow two kids to become as scarred as he was. Really, he was fucked up enough for every kid in the world. This short captivity was probably killing the poor kids as it was. No way was Alex going to let the torture drag on for them if there was something, _anything_, that he could do.

Alex took a deep breath. He would gather what information he could by observing and eavesdropping in the next ten minutes, and then he was going in.

---

Ten minutes later, and Alex had learned that negotiations were underway, and they weren't going well. He'd also heard a few officers discussing how impossible an attack would be because of the way that the two men had arranged themselves: one was guarding the captives with a gun, while the other roved around almost constantly with another gun, making sure no one tried to get in.

Alex didn't know what kind of guns, but at this point in the game, all he could do was hope they weren't Uzis.

He knew all that he was going to find out. Now he just had to figure out how to get into the house without being killed by either the police or the "bad guys."

From what he could see of the house, it was large, and had a lot of windows and doors.

Windows would probably be his best bet, he knew. The doors were likely to be much more closely guarded.

The front windows were not an option, obviously, because they were watched by police. Same for the windows on the sides of the house.

His only option then was to find his way around behind the house, but there was no way to get to the back without being spotted. From here, anyway.

He backtracked. After a few houses, he found one that looked empty, and walked across its garden as quickly and inconspicuously as possible.

He was exceedingly happy to find a nice large ditch that ran along behind the gardens for this whole row of houses.

He jumped down into the ditch. It had been very dry recently, so the water level was quite low. He was going to get wet regardless, but at least he wouldn't have to actually swim. Just quite a bit of crawling through muddy water in his school clothes.

He crawled his way through the cold water surprisingly fast, careful not to be visible from the roads, since that would ruin his whole plan.

Well, that was nice. He'd made it through without being spotted or acquiring hypothermia. Always a good thing.

Of course, now he just had to figure out how to get to the house from here. Really, all he could do was make a break for it. There were no trees or anything that could shelter his journey, unfortunately. His only option was to sprint it.

Reaching behind him, he pulled a 9mm from its holster in the small of his back. Both the gun and holster had been off-the-record get-well gifts from Smithers, and they were definitely coming in handy now.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself both mentally and physically for the run. He just hoped that he would be able to make it. After all, it wasn't like he'd been running any marathons since he'd been shot.

He ran before he could change his mind. Up the ditch's bank, across the entirely too large garden, and finally skidding to a stop just before the brick of the house.

He rested momentarily in the house's shade before sliding cautiously to his left for the nearest window, careful not to move away from the shadow. It would really suck to be caught now, after all this effort.

The window, Alex was pleased to discover, was easily opened. His Swiss Army knife popped the latch, and there was a very convenient hole in the screen, which was perfect for pushing it out and not having it clatter to the floor.

He climbed through with only a small amount of difficulty. It wasn't so high that he had to pull himself up and stress his chest overly much.

His feet connected solidly with a wood floor as he entered the room. Looking around, the walls were beige, with various posters taped everywhere. Some were of bands while others were of sports, and Alex even spotted a classic Coca-Cola sign.

The room was full of various games. A pool table, a snooker table, a ping-pong table, and even a mini putt-putt course tucked into a corner.

The door was on the other side of the room. Alex walked quickly over to it, wincing at the squelching sound that his trainers were making.

He considered taking them off, but the majority of the house could be carpeted. And, even if it was mostly wood floors, his bare feet would make just as much noise, sticking to the wood. He'd rather have shoes that would make any kicks that much more painful for the receiver.

For a moment, he stared at the doorknob, not reaching out to it. What if it was locked after all this effort? Well, there was really only one way to find out.

He put his hand on the knob and twisted. It swung open easily, and Alex sighed out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The hallway on the other side of the door had wood paneling and was faintly lit by the sunlight that filtered through the blinds on the windows.

Alex cocked his pistol quietly and held it ready as he began to walk stealthily down the, thankfully carpeted, hallway. There were four doors lining the hallway.

The first door revealed what looked to be a den, with a couch, a few armchairs, and a large telly.

The second door was to a bedroom. Judging by the lack of personal pictures or anything on the dresser top, Alex guessed that it was a guest bedroom.

Door number three revealed much the same as two, and the fourth door, at the end of the hall, opened to a staircase.

Alex climbed as quietly as he could, albeit quickly. He needed to find the woman and two children. And he would really prefer that he found the two or more men with guns before they found him.

By the top of the stairs, Alex's legs, which were already tired, were practically screaming at him. He really was horribly out of shape, he realized, and he'd already strained himself today.

He worried for a moment about what he was doing. What could a recently-released patient do in a hostage situation?

Then he remembered why he'd decided to do this in the first place. And, really, it didn't matter what happened to him during all of this. He'd long since accepted that he could die at any moment. But that woman and those two kids hadn't, and he wanted them to never go through anything like Alex had.

He had to save them, even if it was the last thing he did.

The soft footsteps was the only warning that Alex got that he had company.

Alex immediately ducked behind a small, purely decorative, table. It would hide him for a few moments at least, but there was no way that the man wouldn't spot him eventually if he continued down this hall.

Alex was going to have to resort to action of some kind. The gun didn't have a silencer, and as such would be too loud. He didn't want to alert the other man to his presence.

The man did indeed continue down the hall, booted feet making hardly any sound. Alex listened to the whispering swish over the carpet to judge where the man was.

And then he was right beside Alex, and Alex leaped up, swinging the butt of his gun to connect solidly with the man's head.

There was a dull thud as the man collapsed to the ground, and Alex smiled slightly. That had to have hurt.

He examined his victim more closely. The man looked to be in his mid twenties behind his black ski mask. His clothes were all black, as well, which seemed a bit pointless to Alex. It was broad daylight out, so the clothes wouldn't help them blend in at all. He could understand the face covering, but if it had been him, he would have used something much less conspicuous.

Alex shook his head at himself, debating what clothes he would wear if he wanted to hold someone captive.

Standing up, he looked around to find a nice convenient place to put this man. The obvious choice would be a closet (preferably with a lock, but he really wasn't very picky). He just had to find one close enough that he could drag the man to it.

Alex straightened up and walked down the hallway the way that the unconscious man had approached. He found a door that opened a short way down the hall.

It wasn't a closet, instead a bathroom, which was adequate for holding the man out of sight.

Alex dragged him as quietly as he could, trying to keep his labored breathing as soft as possible.

It took much longer than he would have preferred, but he finally pulled him into the bathroom.

He patted him down quickly, taking away a handgun and a knife.

Unfortunately, as Alex discovered, the bathroom locked only from the inside, and the man wouldn't be unconscious forever.

Looking around, he saw a closet in the bathroom. There were towels stacked on metal shelves, and Alex smiled.

Moving quickly, he pulled all the towels out. The shelves easily popped out of the fasteners on the walls, and were soon added to the top of the towel pile.

Alex dragged the man into the small closet. He had to fold him up a little for him to fit, but fit he did.

Alex swung the door closed after him, and then braced the doorknob by standing the shelves up. There. It wouldn't hold up for long once the man woke and tried to escape, but it would buy him at least a little more time.

Now he just had to find the others. He had a slight feeling that might take a while - he could appreciate the size of the house a little more now that he was in it.

Luck was with him, however, and he heard voices a few minutes later. Following the noise, he stopped outside yet another closed door. He could hear the voices much more clearly now that he was closer.

"Let us go!" one voice, the woman, snapped angrily, cracking a little. In fear, Alex guessed.

"Shut up, bitch," a man growled in reply.

Alex could also hear crying, but just faintly, like it was muffled by clothing or gags or just plain commonsense.

Alex crept in front of the door and pressed his ear to the wood, holding his breath.

No one was speaking now, and Alex gained no new information. Moving back away from the door, he cursed under his breath.

There was only one door, as far as he could tell, anyway, and it was guarded. He didn't know how they were situated, whether the man had a gun or knife right up against a prisoner for the first sign of trouble.

Then,

"Where's Reb?" he heard the man mutter. That meant that either they had radios or mobiles and "Reb" hadn't checked in on time, or…

Alex opened the door casually. It was the only thing he could have possibly done, but he regretted it almost instantly.

There was a single crack as the man and Alex both fired at the exact same time. Both bullets connected.

Alex's with just a thump as the man fell back with a hole in his hole in his forehead. And the man's bullet with two screams as one of the children, a small boy, fell back with blood pumping out of his stomach.

Alex and the woman (the child's mother, he supposed) both rushed forward to the small boy.

The other child, a girl, seemed to be nearly choking on her sobs. Her blue eyes darted back and forth as though she couldn't figure out if looking at the dead man or her injured brother were worse.

She closed her eyes.

Alex wished he could do the same, but this woman and her children needed help. And at the moment, he was all they had.

"Keep pressure on the wound," Alex said softly, quickly, kneeling next to them.

The woman didn't question him, just nodded. The movement made the tears slip off of her face and fall, glistening slightly in the single ray of sunshine that filtered through the heavy curtains.

She pulled off her light sweater and wrapped it up, pressing it onto her little boy's stomach. The pastel pink turned red far too quickly for Alex's taste.

They had nothing else to use. Alex couldn't use his own jacket because of all the bacteria it had probably picked up in the ditch.

"I'll go get some cloths," Alex said quickly, standing up and running out of the room.

He ran quickly to the bathroom where he'd locked the unconscious man, Reb, up. The piles of towels were still where he'd left them, and Alex grabbed as many as he could hold.

Back in the room, the towels were sopping far, far too soon. Alex wanted to panic, but the woman was enough for both of them. She was breathing shallowly, short and fast, in out in out with no pause.

Alex grabbed one of her blood-stained hands with one of his own, pressing towels firmly with the other.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, pupils dilated with fear. "Who are you?" she gasped out. "Don't hurt us!"

"Shh," Alex said, as calmly as he could. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Alex, I'm here to help you. Now, you need to calm down. Can you take deep breaths for me?"

She nodded, a slight bob of her head, and slowed her breathing down considerably.

Alex didn't know what the hell he was doing here. All he knew was that he needed her to calm down so she could go tell the police what had happened.

If Alex went, all the police would see a blood-stained teenage male who was obviously not in school, and did not live at the house. They would see him as an accomplice, no questions asked until it was too late.

The woman's breathing was much slower now, but the fear was still plain on her face.

"What's your name?" he asked, softly.

"Caroline," she managed to choke out. "And that's John, and Claire."

Alex nodded. At least she was aware enough to figure that he'd ask that next. "You have to go outside, and tell the police what happened here."

The woman, Caroline, stared at him, horrified. "I can't!" she protested. "I can't leave him! I can't, I can't, I can't," she repeated as a mantra.

Alex swallowed. He had to do something, and he hoped to hell that it would be the right thing. "Listen to me, Caroline," he began, quiet, but still forceful. "Look at John. He's bleeding to death here."

Caroline gasped, tears starting again in earnest.

Alex hesitated, not sure that he was doing the right thing here, but he honestly had no choice. He had started this, he was going to finish it.

"He's dying, Caroline. He's going to die if you just sit here. You need to go outside _now_ and get help!"

"I can't," Caroline repeated, shaking her head.

"He's dying!" Alex nearly yelled, leaning in close to her. He hated to be this harsh, but it was necessary. "And every minute you just _sit here_ you're losing him! Are you going to kill your son?"

Alex knew that he'd gotten to her. She stood up and ran out of the room, her hands dripping blood onto the white carpet as she ran.

Alex turned back to the small boy. He was still unconscious, and Alex wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Ian spent all that time training him sports and languages, surely he could have taken some time for some medical training!

The blood was still pumping out too fast, and Alex was afraid. There was so much blood already. Too many towels were soaked, the patch of red on the floor was too bright, too big, and it was _still pumping_.

Panic was setting in for him, and there was no way for him to stop it, nothing to ground himself with.

And then he heard another sob, choked and painful.

He looked around and spotted the girl, Claire. He'd forgotten she was there. She'd heard what he'd said to her mother, he realized. She'd heard that her brother was dying, that her mother was killing him.

Alex stared down at John, his small face pale, his eyes closed. There was really nothing he could do here, other than hold the towel.

Claire was close enough to reach out to, to grab her hand. She looked up at the contact, her blue eyes bloodshot from tears, and her brown hair sticking to the tears and the blood on her face.

She hadn't been very near to her brother, so Alex could only guess that she had a cut on her face.

"John's going to be fine," Alex smiled at her. "Your brother's going to be fine."

She didn't look as if she believed him, but she nodded anyway, swallowing away her fears. "Where's my mum?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"She's getting help. She'll be back soon, and everything will be all right."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, with Alex changing the towels too often. They were running out.

And then there were footsteps, running, in the hallway, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, they could do something and everything would be all right.

A man and a woman in paramedic outfits rushed to set up their equipment while Alex and Claire were moved out of the way by the police. Claire rushed to her mother who held her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

Alex was carefully watched by the policeman. He hadn't seen the man outside, and he seemed to be curious about Alex's presence. Not curious enough to ask any questions, though Alex knew that there would be plenty of those later.

John was hurriedly hooked up to an IV, and carefully maneuvered onto a stretcher while two other paramedics checked over Claire and Caroline for any serious injuries. They found none.

The paramedics carried the small boy down the hallway, down the stairs and out through the front door. The mother and daughter followed them quickly. Alex was kept on a short lead by the policeman.

Outside, the sirens seemed too loud, and the sun was too bright. Alex stopped moving, and the officer grabbed his arm impatiently. Alex was dragged over to the police cars while the small family was put into an ambulance and rushed away.

Alex was surrounded by police officers, including the man that Alex had interrogated earlier.

"How the hell did you get in there, kid?" the man asked in surprise.

Alex ignored him. "Did you find the other man?" he asked.

"No," another officer, a woman, replied. "Where was he?"

"In a bathroom, on the second floor," Alex said. The sun was too bright. Why couldn't it just go away? He couldn't concentrate, and he couldn't figure out why. Then, oh, he realized. He couldn't breath properly, and maybe that was because of the pain in his chest. Yes, that made sense. His chest hurt, and he was maybe panicking a little at the lack of air.

"Kid? Are you alright?"

He heard them talking to him, trying to get his attention, but it was all faint, and it was all fading away, now.

He could feel himself collapsing, but he couldn't really bring himself to care that much, honestly.

He felt arms catching him, and he thought, _That was nice of them_, before everything went black.

---

It was soft and warm, and that constant beeping was rather pleasant, almost hypnotizing. He didn't want to open his eyes, but he had a feeling, a hunch, that maybe he should.

So he opened his eyes, and it was too white, too bright, and he closed them again.

He tried again, and this time he was ready for the brightness. He squinted, and gradually his sight returned.

He was in a hospital room. That realization didn't surprise him, honestly. He would have known that hospital smell anywhere.

What he didn't know was why exactly he was here, or what had happened.

He reached over to the bedside and pressed the button to call the nurse. He had to wait only a few minutes before the nurse opened the door.

She was a middle-aged woman with dyed-blonde hair and a nice smile. "So you're awake then, I see," she said by way of greeting.

"What happened?" he asked, and was that really his voice? He supposed it was, just a little croaky.

"Don't you remember?" the nurse asked, bustling around making sure that Alex's IV's were still properly connected.

"No," Alex shook his head, frustrated, because that meant that he should remember, and he didn't.

"Don't worry, hon. I'm sure you'll remember soon," the nurse said comfortingly.

Alex frowned. He could remember little flashes (and a lot of blood), but all out of order and nonsensical. "What am I here for, then?" he asked finally. "What's wrong with me?"

"You overexerted yourself. That is a nasty wound on your chest," the nurse clucked disapprovingly. "The police were here earlier, you know. Asking to see you when you woke."

Alex looked up at that. The police had been there (wherever_ there_ was, that is). Maybe they could give him some answers.

"Are they still here?" he asked.

"Yes. But you're not well enough for questioning yet," she cautioned.

"I'd still like to see them. Please?" he added when the nurse still seemed uncertain.

She frowned, but nodded, clearly not thrilled at his request.

She left the room and returned not ten minutes later with a pair of policemen. One had curly dark hair while the other had blond. Alex had to fight the urge to make a Starsky and Hutch crack.

"Alex Rider?" the blond man asked. "I'm Officer Davis. This is Officer Cooke," he added, gesturing towards his dark-haired partner.

Alex nodded. "What happened?" he asked, wishing that the IV's were gone, and he could lean forward.

Cooke looked at him curiously. "Don't you remember?"

"No," Alex shook his head. "At least not much. I was hoping that you could say something to jostle my memory."

The two police looked at each other uncertainly.

"Did you sustain any head damage?" Davis asked officiously.

"No, I just don't remember. Dunno why. Probably subconsciously blocking the traumatic memories out or some shit like that," Alex said, recalling the entirely too long of sessions that he had had with a psychiatrist at St. Dominic's. "Can you just tell me what you know?"

Cooke shrugged at his partner. "Miller talked to you yesterday morning - "

"Yesterday morning?" Alex cut him off. What about Jack? She would be frantic by now!

"It's all right, Alex," Davis said, correctly reading him. "Your guardian has been notified. She was here earlier, during visiting hours."

Alex sighed and nodded gratefully.

Davis continued with the information. "Somehow you got into the house and managed to take out two armed men. One was unconscious and stuffed in a bathroom closet, the other shot to death. You successfully saved the woman and both children, though the boy sustained a bullet to the stomach. You sent the woman for help while you watched the kids. Then we took you outside and you collapsed." Davis shrugged. "The doctors told us you overexerted yourself."

"Some scar you have there," Cooke added, nodding at Alex's chest. "Don't know who you are, but you did a hell of a job."

Alex heard Cooke's comment, but it didn't quite register. He was too busy trying to sort out the torrent of memories that had suddenly flooded his mind. He remembered talking to Miller, crawling through a river - no, a ditch, not a river - knocking the man out, and killing the other man.

Now he wished that he could forget it all again. Forget the look of the round hole in the man's forehead, and the blood that poured out of it.

And the little boy. John. There was so, so much blood. Alex wondered how he was doing.

After what seemed like hours, Alex sorted the memories enough and returned his attention to the police. Then something clicked in his head. "What do you mean, who am I?" he asked, puzzled.

"Well, you're not a normal kid, are you?" Cooke asked, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And, once Alex thought about it for a moment, it might well be. It took a considerable amount of training to do what he'd done.

"I suppose not," he answered, quietly. Then, "What do you want to know?"

"That was fast," Davis commented, raising an eyebrow. Then he went straight to the questions.

Alex answered as best as he could. Except the off-hand, _"Where the hell did you learn to do all of that?"_ that he was pretty certain Cooke wouldn't have actually wanted to know.

They finally finished their list of questions and left. Alex was left to slump back onto his pillows. He'd just dozed off pleasantly when there was a light tap on the door.

He looked over to the door and immediately hoped that he was having a nightmare.

"What do you want?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

"To see how you are doing," Mrs. Jones replied smoothly, walking into the room without being invited. Funny. He'd always heard that vampires had to be invited. Myths these days.

She waited a few moments for his reply. When it wasn't forthcoming, she carried on. "I heard about what you did."

"I'm sure you did," Alex snorted. They always fucking knew about everything, didn't they?

"I have to say, I'm very proud of you, Alex."

"Of course you are."

She frowned. "I really am, Alex. I'm not making this up."

"Right. Because you lot actually have emotions and all." Alex knew he sounded petty and quite a bit childish, but he couldn't help it. They'd told him he was done, and now they had the nerve to turn up again!

Jones sighed. "Alex - "

"Cut the bull. Why are you really here?" Alex cut her off. He didn't care that he was being rude (hell, he was happy to be) he just wanted her to say it so that he could say no and kick her out.

She seemed about to protest that she was being honest, but then her face lost its carefully worried look and returned to its usual emotionless state. "We still want you to work for us. What you did yesterday proves that it's in your blood. Why do you fight it so hard?"

Alex was breathing in to laugh in her face when there was another knock, this one much more uncertain, on the door. It was Caroline, and, hiding behind her, Claire.

Alex smiled at them and turned his attention away from Mrs. Jones.

"How's John?"

"He's doing fine," Caroline replied. Her face was drawn and worried, but she seemed all right enough. "The blood transfer was successful, and the doctors say that he'll be fine."

"That's wonderful," Alex replied sincerely.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything?" Caroline continued, uncertainly.

"No, that's all right. Mrs. Jones was actually just leaving."

Mrs. Jones didn't make a single move towards the door. "Do you see them, Alex?" she asked, waving her hand toward the door. "They're alive because of you. Do you know how many people you've saved?"

Alex didn't answer.

"Thousands, even millions of people, Alex," Jones answered for him. "And you could save many more."

"No, thanks."

"You have great abilities!" Mrs. Jones seemed to be getting herself worked up, contradicting her emotionless face. "And with ability comes responsibility. You have a duty toward your fellow humans!"

Maybe Alex had been willing to just leave it at a simple no before, but she'd pushed it too far. "A duty?" he repeated, trying to keep his voice low. "I think I've already fulfilled my fucking duty, thanks." He pointed towards his chest. "I'm not working for you. Ever again."

Maybe Mrs. Jones was just trained to pick her battles, or maybe she'd finally figured out that they'd lost the war. Either way, she walked out the door without another word.

She strode past Caroline and Claire, much too dignified to storm.

Alex glared after her, and then turned slightly to wave Caroline and her daughter into the room.

"Who was that?" Caroline asked, a bit hesitantly, as if she wasn't quite sure she was allowed to ask.

"She's nobody. So John's doing all right, then?" Alex asked, changing the subject.

She brightened. "He was awake for a little while earlier. The doctors say that he can leave in a month or so. He's going to be fine."

Alex smiled, happy for her, for their family, and maybe just a little bit happy that he could relate to being fine.

---

**A/N:** And… finished! Since I couldn't fit this into the story, Alex later finds out that Caroline's husband is a successful lawyer who put Reb and Other Guy's friend in jail. They were holding Caroline, John and Claire in an attempt to bargain him out.

…Or something like that. You may substitute something else, if you so desire. :D

Anyway, I hope this was enjoyable enough! ^_^


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